


Beauty

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Big Brother Dean, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Men of Letters, Saving People Hunting Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: In a world where beasts terrorize the townspeople, King Michael has two families who have devoted themselves to saving people and hunting things. Fearless Sir Dean takes after his Campbell side, and rushes headlong into battle with evil. Cunning Sam tends toward his Winchester blood, and studies under the legendary lettered man Sir Henry. When Dean is compromised while hunting the mysterious Beast of Harvelle, it is up to Sam to save him.





	1. Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2016 Samifer BB
> 
> Paired with wonderful visual artist Kuwlshadow: http://kuwlshadow.livejournal.com/53305.html
> 
> http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/151657661798/title-beauty-author-posingasme-artist

Dean’s torch sputtered out in the storm, but that was just as well. The creature would surely hear him coming. He didn't need it to see him too. If the tales were true, its eyes glowed blood red, and were shaped like those of a wolf. Dean wouldn't need the fire to see the thing staring him down. And no fire was likely to frighten this particular beast. 

The townspeople were convinced it was the Devil himself who lived in the stone manor. Dean wasn't sure what it was. But he had promised Lady Ellen that Harvelle would not be plagued by its savage presence any longer. He had taken out many a fearsome creature in his time. He was a hunter, the best. After all, he was the grandson of Lord Campbell, and also of Sir Henry Winchester. One was a ruthless patriarch of a family of hunters. The other was the King’s own expert on the preternatural. Dean had learned from the best, and he, in turn, was better. 

This beast had no chance. Even if it turned out to be The Beast. 

Perhaps all would have been well if Dean had not lost his footing after the torch had abandoned him. He was a sure climber, athletic and graceful. But the storm was vicious and unforgiving, and the rain and wind cut at him relentlessly until it succeeded in ripping him from his grip, and he fell to the ground below the manor walls with a sickening crack of his arm and ribs, and a brutal smack of his head against stone. 

Dean lay unconscious at the base of the manor, broken and vulnerable. He did not see the bright red orbs looking down at him, nor the sharp white teeth. 

***

Henry shook Sam awake frantically. “Sam! Get up! Something terrible has happened!”

Sam sat up, allowing a cascade of books to fall from his bed onto the floor. “Grandfather, what-”

“Up! Come to me in my library the moment you're dressed.” The old man limped away in a rush. 

He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, sleepy brain and fingers fumbling buttons. He didn't know how to dress for this meeting, but if this was not simply Henry being Henry, if it wasn't just that the man had awoken confused from a nightmare or accidentally calculated the mathematical end of the world again, Sam might have need of his riding clothes. He shoved his feet into his boots and pulled them over his brown riding pants legs. He was still tugging at his white shirt when he reached the library. 

“It's your brother,” Henry said without preamble. 

Sam stiffened immediately. “What did he do this time?”

Henry watched him. “He's been captured.”

Hazel blue-grey eyes widened. “What? Captured! By whom?”

“By the Beast of Harvelle.”

Sam's mind was perfectly awake now, and he began sifting through it for information. “Beast of...Lady Ellen’s territory. I've heard of this beast. He's got my brother? How? It never ventures away from its manor…” Then Sam's jaw clenched and his eyebrow arched. “Dean went hunting it. That pigheaded-”

“The point now is that he will need a rescue. But I think sending a garrison from the army is not the thing this time.”

“Why? If it's got Dean-”

“It's just as likely to kill him if it is set upon by men and dogs.”

Sam swallowed hard. “How have you come about this information?”

Henry gave him a sad smile. “Some days I just like to check on both my grandsons.”

“So you were scrying on him. And you found him…?”

“In the dungeon of this beast’s manor. He is in bad need, Sam.”

“I'll go myself. I'll change horses at Lady Ellen’s, and I'll negotiate with the beast if I can, kill it if I cannot.”

Henry gripped his arm. “Be careful, Sam. I will watch over you, but you'll be outside my ability to protect you.”

Sam sighed. “I'll be fine. Just don't let the Campbells hear of this, or they'll raid the place with every man they've got, and Dean will be lost.” He scowled. “They care more for hunting things than saving people, even one of our own.” He stared hard at Henry in warning. “And do not tell your son. He's as bad as a Campbell, in spite of how much he loathes them.”

The old man's eyes lowered, but he nodded. 

“I'll be back in two days. When I change to a fresh horse, I'll tell Lady Ellen to have a physician waiting in her home. I will bring Dean directly there for care.”

Henry nodded again. “Take care, Sam. I know you and your brother don't always get along. But I hope you will be easy on him. In hunting these creatures, he is saving people.”

“Yes, and getting himself broken more often than not,” Sam snapped back. “Have your stable ready a horse for me. I'll pack a bag and leave in minutes.”

Henry reached for him again, and placed an object in his hand. “For protection.”

Sam glanced at it. It was a silver stiletto with a distinctive marking on the grip. “A rose?” Sam asked. 

“It is the symbol of love. To remind you why you put up with your brother.”

A laugh surprised him. He shook his head. “Thank you, Grandfather. I'll bring the stubborn idiot back. I promise.” 

And so Sam Winchester raced off from the main Winchester holdings, where he served as apprentice to the most powerful of lettered men, the mystic Sir Henry, to save his older brother, who had always inclined toward the Campbell side instead. 

***

In spite of the urgency, Sam could only push his horse so hard, and so he had far too much time along the way to think of the terrible things which could be happening to his brother in the meantime. In the silence of his mind, he alternated between cursing Dean’s conceit, and praising his heroism. He remembered the last time he had seen his brother. 

Dean had been passing through, as always. He had stopped to give tribute to King Michael, as was expected whenever he passed near enough, and Sam had met him there. Their father was the personal mentor to the King’s son Adam, training him in everything from implements of war to studies of Latin classics. Sam had seen the way Dean watched Adam, the coldness in his eyes. It would be a lie to say that Sam didn't feel the same things, the twinge of jealousy as John boasted about the younger boy’s accomplishments in a way he never had about either of them. But Sam managed to keep the hurt from showing on his face. Dean made no such effort regarding his anger. Not that it mattered. John didn't notice anyway, and Adam was far too busy basking in the attention. 

“You were twice as good with a staff by his age,” Dean murmured. 

“Sh,” Sam hissed. He felt a twinge of pride at his brother's words, but he didn't dare let himself smirk. 

“Well, you were. Nearly took out Gordon Walker and his cousins by yourself when you practiced, till they realized they couldn't afford to take it easy on you. I sat right there on the side and laughed till I couldn't breathe when you flattened Gordon himself when he pissed you off. You were twelve, and him, maybe seventeen, and you just laid him right out. Funniest thing I ever saw. This kid, Gordon would have for breakfast.”

Sam snickered, then clamped his mouth shut when John narrowed his eyes at him. He lowered his own gaze until John had refocused on the King and his prodigious son. He mumbled an excuse that no one took note of, and he and his brother were off to themselves in the courtyard in a hurry. 

As soon as they were alone, they both burst into laughter. 

“You're a poor influence, Dean,” he accused between chuckles. 

“You think the same things. You simply don't say them aloud.”

“Because they shouldn't be said aloud!” he responded. 

Dean shrugged carelessly. “It's true. Father can boast all he likes about his newest toy soldier, but you and I were the real things. Till my little brother became infected by Sir Henry’s madness.”

Sam sobered with a sigh. “It isn't madness. It's science. Madness is what you do.”

“What?” he scoffed. “Keeping villages safe from monsters? That's what knights are supposed to do, Sam. And if you think King Michael needs yet another mad scholar, you've only to look at which of us he bestowed that honor upon! He wants men of strength and courage, Sam, not men of letters and potions! Why not tell Grandfather Henry you're due for a holiday, and come with me on my next hunt? Just like old times? You'll remember how exciting it is! Saving people, hunting things! It's in our Campbell blood, Sam!”

“Yes,” Sam snapped. “In our Campbell blood, which you're spilling every time I turn around! Need I even ask how you received your latest gash at the neck? Or should I just use my imagination, brave sir knight?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You could be knighted too, you know. And not an honorary title like Henry’s got. A real one.”

“Grandfather’s title isn't decorative. He has provided invaluable service to the crown-”

“Sam, stop. Okay? I'm sorry. Look, I'm not staying. I'm leaving early in the morning. Let us be brothers for the time I have. Can we?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Dean, you have no respect for my decisions, nor for my occupations, nor even for my mentor, your own father’s father. It's not your path. But that doesn't make it a cowardly one!”

Dean’s eyes flashed in anger. “I didn't say-”

“It's what you think!”

“You were raised by Winchesters and Campbells! If you think you'll ever be normal-”

“No. Not normal. Safe!”

“And that's why you ran away?”

“I'm just apprenticing under Henry. It was Father who told me if I would give up the life of a soldier, I should stay gone. That's what I'm doing.”

“It isn't like that, Sammy!”

At last, he smiled a little. “You know, Sammy is a portly child. It's Sam.”

“So you think you're just going to become some scholar? Be Henry?

“Perhaps. Why not?”

“You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later, you will have to face what you truly are.”

“And what is that?” Sam demanded. 

“You're one of us,” Dean said, staring evenly into Sam’s eyes. 

“No. I'm not like you. I don't want hunting things to be my life. I don't care how many generations it goes back.”

“You have a responsibility to-”

Sam stepped forward fearlessly. “To Father? To Samuel and his crusade? Dean, I don't want that. Don't you see? Look. I am proud beyond words of my family. I'm especially proud to call myself the brother of the great hunter knight Dean Winchester. But you know I will never be that. I'm a man of letters, and I wish you would take pride in that as I take pride in you.”

Dean sighed heavily, and nodded. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I do. You're right. I just miss you. I want us to be a family again. Since you left, and then Father retired from hunts to tutor the princeling-”

Sam snorted at the diminutive. 

“-I've mostly been hunting alone. Our cousins are not exactly the same worthy company you are. I am proud of you, Sammy.”

He smiled, and felt his chest loosen a little. “It's Sam,” he reminded him. 

“Okay, little brother.”

And now he was riding toward an ivy-laden manor no one could find without the skills he and his brother had been taught by their father, the greatest of all hunters, the legend. Its existence was mired in lore, and its location was a mystery, seeming to move at the whim of the night. Dean had found it, and so would he. He had to. He wasn't leaving his brother alone out there.

No matter what beast awaited him at the end of his search, he would find his brother, and he would bring him home.


	2. Exchanged

Dean had rarely eaten as well as he did while held captive by the Beast of Harvelle, and that was a fact. He was a little concerned that he was being fattened for the slaughter, but so far, his monstrous host and warden had shown no interest in eating him. 

In fact, the thing had not spoken to him at all. It was beginning to seem as though it did not even possess the ability to communicate. It clearly possessed some sort of intelligence, and it wielded magic that Dean’s grandfather Henry might have given his right arm to witness, let alone utilize. But it did not speak. 

Dean had learned quickly, however, that he was, in fact, a prisoner there. In spite of the rather nice accommodations with which he was provided, he had only to move toward an egress, and the thing was blocking his way with a terrifying growl and gnashing of teeth. It was unlikely Dean would make it far on his own anyway. Locating the manor itself was a feat of wit, and reaching it was a trial of strength and stamina, considering the great climb. With a concussed head, splintered arm, and broken ribs, it was everything he could do to walk, let alone escape. That would have to wait until he had recovered somewhat. Or until the creature forced the issue by attacking. 

It was three days of surreal uncertainty and agonizing pain, which caused him to drift in and out of consciousness, before Dean heard a commotion from outside his designated area of the manor. He strained to hear what was going on. 

“Hello? Hello!”

Ice raced through his veins as he recognized the voice. “Sammy,” he choked out. 

“I'm here for my brother. He's the man you've imprisoned here. We mean you no harm, and we will leave without bothering you.”

Dean snorted, then cringed at the pain in his ribs. That was a bunch of horseshit. Dean meant the monster plenty of harm. And if he weren't struggling to take a full breath, he would absolutely bother it before leaving. That's why he came in the first place. 

But Sam was ever the diplomat. “Will the master of this house show himself?” he requested, for all the world as though he were talking to a meek, shy duke and not a murderous villain. 

To Dean’s utter shock, he heard a second voice. It was softer than he had imagined, but just as lethal. More of a poisonous wine than a bludgeoning club, but deadly all the same. “You speak with respect,” the voice murmured. 

Dean tried to creep toward the voices, but his injuries were preventing much movement at all anymore. He couldn't figure out why the beast was keeping him alive, except perhaps that it enjoyed his suffering, and was amused by Dean’s ability to eat heartily in spite of the pain. 

“Certainly,” Sam said with a calm Dean did not feel was warranted at all. The elder brother continued trying to sneak forward. He had to put himself between this beast and his brother, even if it killed him. He inched along, leaning on the wall for support. He was dizzy, one arm useless, and his ribs were screaming in pain, and what had he done to his knee, by the way? Oh, the fall. When was that? Three days ago? A month ago? Maybe yesterday. 

“What do you want?” the Beast intoned quietly. 

It was obvious that Sam still could not see either of them. If he could see Dean creeping along the wall, he would run to him. If he could see the monster, he would run away. 

Would he?

Dean’s addled mind wondered. His brother, his stubborn, serious little brother, had never admitted to fear in his life. He talked about wanting to feel safe, yet he had never backed away from hard work or danger. Would he run from the Beast of Harvelle, the horrible creature born to the night? Or would he stand his ground, even though he wielded books instead of swords now?

“I tell you again; I only want my brother. He has made a mistake in coming here, and I would correct that if you'll allow it. Please.”

Finally, Dean was able to step brokenly into the grand hall, where he could see Sam, travel-weary and street-wary, holding a dagger in one hand, while the other hand was displaying his palm in submission to the unseen creature whose disembodied voice reached them again. 

“Your brother came to my home, my sanctuary, to kill me. I've fed him. But I do not intend to release him.”

Sam sighed. “He is still alive, then.”

“He is. Now you will go. Your brother is forfeit. He made his choice of his own free will.” The creature snorted derisively. “Although he was likely sent by the King, who knows of no such thing. He would call it an illusion, I suppose. No matter. Your brother is mine to do with as I will.”

He shook his head, strands of long hair whispering at his shoulders. “No. I understand your claim to him, but I won't acknowledge it. What can I offer you to release him to me? There's gold-”

“And does my home seem to be lacking for treasure, you stupid thing?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “But there must be something you will take in exchange. My brother needs the attention of a physician, and I will give you anything I have in order to provide it.”

Dean’s knee crumbled beneath his weight, and he groaned as he stumbled to the floor against the wall. “Sam!” he cried hoarsely. “Go. Run now. I don't need-”

But Sam's hazel green eyes cut his words from his mouth. “You shut up. Henry saw you. I'm here to pull your ass out of a fire for once.”

His broken chest filled with anger even as his heart burst with pride. He wished he were coherent enough to think of why he was so proud of Sam in that moment. Perhaps he needed a physician. His neck muscles betrayed him and let his head slump down. 

It was possible he was hurt worse than he had thought. Eating was one thing. He had still left a lot of blood on the front lawn. 

Sam turned away from him and faced the open room, a great library, from which the voice seemed to be coming. “Well? I don't have much time. I don't know what you've done to him, but he clearly needs a physician now.”

“I've done nothing. He did this all to himself. His attempt at assassination was thwarted by the storm. His consciousness was thwarted by a large stone. His broken bones and blood loss were of his own carelessness. My food and wine were simply laced with a strong sleeping herb and a mild opiate to reduce his ceaseless chatter.”

“Poisoned wine!” Dean shrieked without his voice. “I knew it!”

“What is it that I can trade for my brother?” Sam asked again. 

Then Dean heard the sharp intake of breath as the Beast revealed itself in the doorway to the library. At last, there was something-not fear so much as awe-in Sam’s eyes. 

The Beast stood at a normal height for a man, or at least no taller than Dean, who was larger than most men he knew. But Sam was taller still, perhaps three inches above both Dean and the monster. But for all of that, the Beast seemed to tower over both brothers, wolfish eyes glowering down at them. There was intelligence in those eyes, Dean realized now that he had heard the thing speak. And in the daylight, it looked far more human than Dean had remembered. But it was clearly wicked. That could be seen at a glance, by simply looking into the sneer on the scarred face. 

“What can you trade for your brother,” the Beast mocked, pretending to consider thoughtfully. Then he looked up with a sinister smirk. “How much did you say you value the trespassing fiend?”

“Sammy!” Dean warned. 

Sam's eyes cut to him again. “It's Sam,” he snapped, then looked back at the creature. “He's my brother, and the most important thing in my life. There's nothing I won't give for him. Please.”

“Worth so much, is he?” the monster said with doubt. 

“He's everything,” Sam confirmed without hesitation. 

Dean frowned. All at once, he knew where this was going. “No!” he croaked. “Sammy, no!”

Sam ignored him. “Name your price.”

The Beast watched him with bemused curiosity. “Very well. The King would call free will an illusion. Perhaps it is. But I believe in it all the same. And that is what you will give to me. You will take his place here, of your own free will, and you will be my prisoner, my guest, instead.”

“No!” Dean cried. 

“Done,” Sam responded immediately. 

The Beast smiled. It glanced at Dean and shook his head. “A brother who would die for you. It must be nice. And I'm certain you don't deserve it.” 

Then it snapped its fingers sharply, and Dean blinked to find himself stretched out on Lady Ellen of Harvelle’s lounge. “Sammy!” he screamed, just before blackness took him over. He could hear Lady Ellen shouting, and a physician prattling, Jo questioning, and then, finally, silence, as Dean lost his battle with consciousness completely.


	3. Special

Sam watched his brother disappear from the room, and he flinched. “What did you do?” he screamed. 

The Beast took a step toward him. “I did as we agreed. I sent him to the House of Harvelle for a physician’s care. And you may scry upon him at any moment to check that this is so. I will never lie to you. I’ll never trick you. Thank you for letting me in.”

He drew a long breath. He felt certain suddenly that what he said was true. Dean was safe. He stared at the creature. “Why me?”

The Beast smiled and shrugged. “Because I wanted it to be you.”

“What do I call you? And how long will you keep me here?”

Those terrifying eyes seemed almost kind in that moment. “Call me Lucien. And I'll keep you as long as I intended to keep your brother. Always.”

Sam took a breath. “Lucien. There's no reason to think my brother won't gather the palace guard to rescue me.”

Lucien shrugged. “He can try.”

“He’ll make you-”

Those wolfen eyes cut into him and stilled his tongue. “No one makes me do anything,” he snarled. 

Sam swallowed hard. 

Lucien took a step back and sighed. “Sam, you will tend my garden. It's through here. Have you ever worked in a garden before?”

He nodded. “I'm good with plants. I've never...never worked farmland, but gardens, particularly herbs and medicinal plants...I will do my best.”

The Beast smiled at him in surprise. “Will you?”

Sam’s voice was cold. “I said I would, didn't I? You held up your end of the contract, and I will mine. At least until you decide to release me, or are forced to do so.”

Lucien stared at him. “What a peculiar creature you are,” he murmured. “Far more honorable than any man I've ever met.” He paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I am having a room prepared for you as we speak. You will rest now, and eat. In the morning, you will break your fast, then work from dawn to dusk, then you will eat and sleep again. You will repeat this every day.”

“You have servants?” Sam responded hoarsely. 

He shook his head. “I've no need.”

“You said a room was-was being prepared.”

Lucien smiled. “It is. Under my power, a room will prepare itself.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he felt a twinge of curiosity ache in him. “You are powerful, Lucien,” he said. “Is it an inherent ability, or do you study?”

There was amusement in his eyes now. “Both,” he reported. 

The young man nodded. “You said I might scry on my brother. Is that an ability that you have? Or have you some object of power?”

“I have a looking glass which can assist you in that way. You will find it awaiting you in your room. Know that I have dissolved all ability to scry into my home now. It seems leaving myself open to scrying is what brought you to me in the first place, and I'll have no more of that. If you have another question, ask it, for it will be your last chance. I grow impatient.”

Sam licked his lips, carefully devising how to use his last query. He took a deep breath, and spoke slowly. “Are you so wicked as they say you are?”

“I am what they made me,” he growled. Then he turned and stormed back into the shadows, snapping his fingers above his shoulder. 

The apprentice found himself transported to a small room. His stomach churning, his vision dizzy, he dropped to his knees. Fortunately, there was a straw mat laid out, and it gave him some support in his fall. He sat on his heels, and looked around himself in despair. Other than the mat, there were just two objects. One was a bucket of water. The other was an elegant looking glass lying carelessly on the floor. 

He sighed and took hold of it. “Faites ce que je vous dis,” he mumbled miserably. “Montrez-moi mon frère.” 

The simple words set the looking glass fogging, and he waited with vexation as it sleepily awoke. But the image remained so distorted that he could not see anything for sure. That was Dean, certainly, but was he alive or not? He lay still, and Sam could not make out any movement or other signs of life. A panic was rising in him, and he clamped it down. 

In place of his fear, Sam allowed his irritation to bloom into a potent wrath. “Fais ce que je dis!” he said forcefully. “Je veux voir mon frère!”

At once, the stubborn glass obeyed, and he was granted a clear view of Dean, lying prone but alive in what was clearly Lady Ellen's private wing, being seen to by her physician. A wisp of long blond hair caught his eye, and he sat back with a sigh of relief. 

“If Joanna Beth is overseeing your recovery,” he murmured to his brother, “you'll be just fine. You wouldn't dare die without her permission, and no physician would dare let you die against her wishes.” He tried to smile, but it became another sigh, and his will faltered enough to allow his command of the enchanted object to collapse. He set it down carefully, and opened his bags. He may as well check his supplies. It seemed he would be staying there for the foreseeable future. 

***

The beast sat in his library amongst the only friends he had ever known, his books. His eyes slipped closed, and he leaned his head against the chair, breathing in deeply through his nose. His book lay across his lap. 

Sam was using the looking glass. He could feel it. Its use sent spirals of mild power drifting lazily toward him. He sighed with disappointment. 

“Meek,” he spat out hoarsely. “I felt...But it was wishful, willful self-deception. The boy is meek. No more than the sum of his lessons and studies.”

Suddenly, a wave of power flushed over him, and he stumbled to his feet, letting the book fall, forgotten, to the ground. 

Lucien began to grin to himself. “Now that...That's more like it. That kind of dominance can't be taught,” he purred in appreciation. “Sam Winchester. You are a special child, aren't you? Feed that rage, beautiful thing. You've outgrown that old mentor of yours. It's time for me to school you myself. You have potential, Sam. Just as I felt the moment you arrived. And I plan to help you harvest that wonderful rage. But first we need to cultivate it, to let it grow and bloom.” He raised his hands, palms up, and closed his eyes. “Rêve de la colère ce soir,” he hissed. “We’ll begin with a few night terrors, shall we?”

For Lucien’s name meant Bringer of Light, and he believed that the best time to bring his light was in the deathly dark of night. That was when light was needed, when souls cried out in fear for him to save them. Before Sam would cry out for him, he had to experience fear and darkness. He had to become afraid of the night, before Lucien could descend as his hero by bringing him the relief of his light. 

He opened his eyes and smiled. “Sleep well, Sam Winchester,” he snarled.


	4. Rage

It was painful to sleep on the floor, even with the mat. In fact, Sam wondered miserably if he would be better off without it. He chided himself on his tenderness. Had he lived so long in comfort and plenty that he could not survive a single night with bare resources? Had he been spoiled in Sir Henry's carefully cultivated tranquility? John would be disgusted. Dean would laugh. 

He lay flat on his back and closed his eyes tight against his tears. He understood better, being in this place, the magic that made it nearly impossible to find. It had been a tribute to Dean’s cleverness that he was able to do it the first time, and Sam’s studies that he had as well. But now that Lucien knew the hunter was looking, it would be far too easy to hide his manor further, from Dean specifically. Sam doubted even Henry or John would be able to find it now, and he wondered if rescuing him would even be enough to bring those two men to work together. He wasn't Dean, after all. 

No one was coming for him. When Dean was sufficiently recovered, he would never rest, trying to find his brother and the beast that held him. But this power Sam felt...It took nothing at all for Lucien to protect himself from Dean specifically now that he knew the hunter. Sam was alone. 

His teeth clenched in anger. Henry, Samuel and John would never give in to despair. Dean wouldn't. His grandfathers would learn everything they could about their situation. Dean would constantly be on alert, and never, never give up. And John? Well, John would get angry. 

Sam let a humorless smile overtake him. “I guess I'm more of my father's son than I thought,” he growled into the pitch darkness. “Because that, I can do.”

***

Tendrils of madness crept into his mind while he slept off his exhaustion. They corrupted his dreams, left him shaking and sweating in the cool air. 

He watched a childhood friend called Jess being tortured by Samuel Campbell and his cousin Christian. 

“Stop this!” he screamed at them. 

Christian had stared at him. “It's a demon, Sam! They're all demons. Everyone you've ever cared about outside of family!” Then his own eyes flashed black, and he grinned maniacally. “And maybe a few inside the family too.” He put his finger to his lips as if it were their secret to share. 

Jess wailed in pain, and Sam threw himself between his friend and his family. “I won't let you hurt her!”

Samuel’s own eyes were glowing yellow when they turned on him. “Stand back, boy.”

“No! You have to stop this! It's all wrong!”

His grandfather shook his head in disgust. “Who are you to tell me what I can hunt? You aren't one of us! What exactly are you supposed to be to me?”

Sam took his words as a physical blow. “I'm your grandson!”

“You're a Winchester. You made your choice. Left your soul behind for science and magic, that witchcraft Henry teaches you. You're nothing but a monster yourself. So don't-”

Rage boiled in Sam’s gut now, and he heard it pour out his mouth. “That witchcraft, as you call it, has saved the lives of hunters for generations! Call me a monster; maybe I am! But everything I do, all my research and work, goes toward keeping hunters like you and my brother safe. From studying how to make a better crossbow, to finding a material for your clothing that allows you to move silently but also provides some protection against blades, to creating a field kit of medicinal ointments and herbs, I have made it my life’s work to keep your men safe. And so has every man of letters of the Winchester family for generations. So if I'm a monster, it's because I'm willing to give my soul if it keeps my family, my brother, safe.”

Samuel was shaking his head. “You just like the power, and that's what makes you a monster.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I do like the power,” he snarled. He lifted his hand, palm open to Samuel’s yellow eyes, and he could feel the surge of wrath press out from two steady fingers. 

His grandfather gasped and began to choke. His knife clattered to the ground. 

Sam could hear Jess scrambling away behind him, and it fueled his power with a hint of pride in having protected his friend. “Être allé d'ici.” 

Samuel gagged and dropped to the ground after his knife. When Sam saw him reach for it, his fury flared anew, and he closed his hand into a fist. The yellow-eyed demon screamed in agony, and dissolved into black smoke all around him. 

Then he heard the cry behind him, and he turned to see Christian’s blade run through the chest of his old, dear friend. Her eyes were shot wide, and she met his stare before slumping lifeless to his cousin’s feet. 

“No!” he shrieked. Grief and guilt overwhelmed his anger, and his power crashed into uselessness. “No!” he cried, and he dropped to his knees. 

Christian was grinning at him still. “Can't save them all, Sammy.”

His eyes flicked up to find, not his cousin, but his brother holding the bloody knife. “Dean?” he accused hoarsely. “How could you?”

His brother's eyes flashed black, and he smiled. “Sorry, Sammy. Like I said. Can't save us all.”

***

Sam awoke dripping in sweat and shivering with chill. The ghosts from his dream haunted him just inside his eyelids, but he shook his head to clear it. He was even more exhausted than when he had fallen asleep.

He crawled to the looking glass and grasped it. “S'il vous plaît me montrer mon frère.” 

The words activated the magic, and he again got a fuzzy view of his brother at Lady Ellen's. Ellen herself was standing over Dean with her hand on his forehead, soothing his worried sleep. 

Sam sat back and sighed. “Take care of yourself, big brother,” he murmured. “Please.”

***

A strange melancholy came over Lucien as the young man succumbed to grief within his dream. He could feel it across the manor. It had not been his intention to bring on that emotion, that deep and overwhelming sadness and guilt. 

Lucien had thrilled with the surge of wrath Sam had commanded inside the illusion. It had been so powerful that it had caused the glass in his home to shiver, and Lucien had to admit that he had felt it in his spine as well. There was a latent fury in this young man that was delicious in its potency. It had resurrected something in Lucien, brought to life something he had thought permanently gone. It was thrilling, and yet to his utter disbelief, he found that he felt a twinge of fear. He was not afraid that Sam could harm him. It was the intensity with which he felt drawn to the man that frightened him. 

Then the power collapsed like a breaking wave, and horror and sorrow rose in its place. Lucien felt it smack into him unexpectedly while he was pacing, and it nearly knocked him to his knees. Anguish surrounded him, and he had to push it away with his own power, break the connection to Sam, to avoid being overwhelmed by it all. Trepidatiously, he ventured to reach back toward the man with his tendrils, shadows which spiraled into Sam’s room to examine his soul. 

That was when he had found the young man sighing wearily into the looking glass. 

Lucien frowned to himself. “Where is all that beautiful rage, Sam?” he wondered aloud. “Where do you hide it when you give yourself to sorrow instead? For some it might dissipate. For you, I think, it simply sleeps and grows stronger.”

He felt a temptation to let his vision explore the man’s body in detail. The idea itself was no issue for a monster with a rusted moral compass. But the desire to do it startled him so badly that he pulled back from Sam in an instant. 

Why should he care what the youth looked like? Lucien was above such things as attraction. His interest in Sam had nothing to do with such superficial qualities. Certainly the man was beautiful. But that meant nothing, especially compared to Sam's potential as a protégé. 

Lucien rarely slept at night, but he decided to do so now, so as not to continue dwelling on such odd things.


	5. Tasks

Sam’s head pounded and his stomach churned unhappily when he awoke on his straw mat the next morning. His whole body ached. But at the first sliver of dawn from under the door, he pushed himself up and dressed. He had made a contract with this beast, and he intended to see his part through. His compensation had been Dean’s life, and he was sure it had been spared. So the only honorable thing to do was to get to work as he had been commanded by his new master. 

Upon testing the door, he found it unlocked, but that was hardly a surprise. Sam had been witness to the power his master possessed, and it would be the simplest trick to keep Sam from escaping, or even to kill him for trying. 

Just outside the door was a small tray with a dish of food. Oatmeal, bread with honey, cheese and fruit, with tea. He smiled a little in relief. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this was a welcome sight. He sat back on his mat to eat as much as his sulking stomach would allow, and the tea put his headache to rest. Then he lifted himself again and left his room to find his work. 

Lucien stood with his back to him, in an elegant black riding jacket. The jacket was out of fashion somewhat at court, but Sam could remember when all the gentlemen had worn them, and he had never seen one so exquisite, nor one worn so well. It had fascinating, intricate jet beadwork embroidery, silk and velvet creating the picture of luxury and grace. The white lace cravat beneath continued the look of effortless refinement. Sam found himself staring at the cut of the jacket.

He spoke hoarsely. “You're just a man, aren't you?”

His master was smiling; he could hear it in his voice. “Perhaps I'm an angel.”

Sam stood firm. “They call you the Devil.”

“One of many things they call me,” he agreed without turning. He stared out a glass door at his courtyard, which contained a breathtaking rose garden, open to the sky. “Go out and choose for me the most powerful rose.”

“Powerful?” Sam narrowed his eyes, then looked out at the garden. 

“Will I need to repeat myself for all your orders?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. He clenched his jaw and stalked out the glass doors into the courtyard, and began looking through the blooms. They were extraordinary plants. Some grew as ivies, and others as small bushes, but they all grew healthy and strong. Sam reached out to touch several, wondering what about a rose was powerful. Beautiful, certainly. But powerful? His gaze and fingers brushed along deep reds, sultry pinks, and rich purples. At the center, there was even a plant on which grew roses that were black all over, except tipped in dark, blood red.

But one in particular caught his eye at last. He reached to break the stem, then stopped. He turned to find Lucien watching him. He tapped the rose, then stepped away from it to return to his master’s side. 

Lucien was staring with interest. “Why that one?”

Sam took a breath. “It was a bud. It hasn't opened yet. If I picked it, it would open, but it wouldn't-”

“Reach its potential,” Lucien finished for him in a whisper. 

He nodded. “It is pure white, which is said to be the combination of all colors on the spectrum. It is yet to bloom, but it has…” He shrugged. “You said to choose the most powerful rose. That's a ridiculous task. But if you insist on it, I argue that the unopened white bud is the one you want. Now, you said you had work for me to do. I prefer to begin, rather than be both prisoner and philosopher.”

Lucien lifted his hand, and his lace cuffed sleeves draped. “Be still, Sam,” he whispered. “You are impatient.” He touched Sam's face gently.

Sam flinched from the touch in shock. “What are you-”

“Be still,” the command came again

He tried. It made him feel cornered. But he stood his ground stubbornly, knowing that Lucien could make him keep still if he wanted to. Instead, he was asking him. 

The touch was softer than he would have assumed. Being so close to Lucien gave him a better view of the man’s disfigurement. The scars on his face were caused by burns, most definitely. They were on his hands too. It was as though he had burned from the inside. 

But he was just a man. 

“What would you have me do?” he said quietly. 

Lucien sighed and removed his hand. “You will attend my gardens. This one, certainly, but all about the manor. I will show you what to do. Then you will do it, every day from the time you've awoken to the time you sleep at night.”

Hard work did not frighten Sam. He was strong and healthy, and he was no stranger to labor. In spite of his status as John Winchester's son, he had been expected by John himself to learn to work harder than any farmer. It served him well now. He worked without stopping until dusk, when Lucien reappeared to call him in. He returned to his room to find dinner awaiting him, and he made short work of that as well, before collapsing onto the mat. He had the looking glass spy on Dean, who was arguing with a physician. It made him smile, even as his heart aches and his muscles stung. 

The next day, his breakfast was waiting for him, but Lucien was not. He knew what was expected of him, and he set about completing his tasks. He could sense the power which monitored him at all times, and though he caught himself thinking of it frequently, he knew that an attempt at escape would be ill-advised. Not yet. 

He had a debt to pay, a contract to uphold in the meantime. And so he worked. 

Days passed in this way.


	6. Strength

The nightmares beat down on Sam relentlessly. But he fought them off with anger which poured off of him in waves. He slept very little, but he refused to give in to the sorrow the way he had that first night alone. 

On the sixth night, he trudged back to his room to find that his straw mat had been replaced by a decent bed. He nearly wept with relieved shock. There were still no bedclothes, no pillows, but he didn't care. He gobbled his food quickly, and lay down on the bed the moment his clothing was off. It was luxurious. The nightmares still came, but he sent them hiding with a flick of his wrist, and slept through them all for the first night since arriving. 

On the tenth night, he found new, expensive, tailored clothing awaiting him. It fit him perfectly, and made him wonder how Lucien had gotten his measurements. And had these threads been conjured with magic? Sam couldn't imagine there was any tailor brave enough to find his way to the manor to serve the master who lived there. 

On the twelfth night, he came back to his room to find his bucket of water and rag had been upgraded to a tub of warm water and fragrant soap and herbs. He luxuriated in the water until it had run cold, and his sore muscles thanked him for it. 

Each night and each morning, Sam checked in on Dean. His recovery was going well, but it was clear he was still unable to stand without assistance. He noticed that Lady Joanna Beth tended to sit at his side, reading to him, with dogged loyalty. He knew Dean was probably trying to convince Ellen to gather troops to storm Lucien’s manor, but he also knew Dean was smart enough to know how futile that was. Until he was on his feet himself, he couldn't find the manor through the maze of magic warding, and there was no one else with the same level of skill to do it. 

The morning after his bath, Sam emerged from his room to find his tray awaiting him with a stunning white rose bloom beside his bowl. He smiled at it almost triumphantly. 

That evening, he was still at work when dusk settled around him. He had been so focused on his task that he didn't realize the sun was completely gone until a voice spoke behind him. 

“You do more than you need to do.”

He whirled around to find red wolfen eyes watching him with interest. It had been so long since he had heard another voice that it had startled him badly. 

“You could have retired an hour ago.”

Sam glanced back at his garden, and shrugged. “It's better for the plant to prune it all at once. And I don't think I even noticed how late it was getting.”

“Your dinner is inside.”

He wiped his hands on the thighs of his trousers. “Thank you. And...thank you for the things you've left for me. Especially the bed.”

“There's no real reason you can't be comfortable. You do as I ask, and sometimes more. I have another task for you.”

Sam followed him into the home, and awaited his orders. 

Lucien watched him carefully. “I have an extensive library, Sam,” he said quietly. “And it needs upkeep. In exchange for your maintenance of it, I will allow you to borrow one book each night.”

The man of letters drew in a breath. Hunger immediately sprang up in him. “I would like that very much.”

His master seemed pleased. “I thought you might,” he said benevolently. “Simply return it in the morning.”

Sam nodded eagerly. “May I...may I begin tonight?” 

Lucien was smiling. “Aren't you too tired?”

“Too tired to read? Never. Especially since I can only imagine that you have some amazing volumes in your collection.”

“I do. Sam, I find you to be something of a kindred spirit. We have quite a bit in common, you know.”

Sam looked at him with interest. He realized suddenly that this man no longer frightened him, in spite of the fact that every day he was there, Sam came to a better understanding of just how incredibly powerful Lucien truly was. 

“I have an older brother myself, you see.”

His eyebrows raised. 

“We are very different. He is a man who appreciates physical strength over true power. He doesn't trust anything he doesn't understand. On the other hand, I seek out what is difficult to understand, and I learn it until it is mine.”

Sam felt a weary smile break over him. “Our brothers sound very similar, indeed. Dean has no qualms about using the things learned men create for him, but he would rather use a knife and his bare hands than depend upon an incantation.” He was quiet for a moment, then without meaning to, he sighed, “I miss him.” He looked up fearfully, but found Lucien's eyes full of sympathy. “I'm often apart from him for weeks. But not knowing when I'll see him again...It helps to be able to look in on him, and I thank you for that looking glass as well.”

Lucien watched him curiously. “You thank me as though I am not the one who separates you from your brother.”

Sam sighed. “I thank you because you could have made this far worse, and you've chosen not to do so. My brother came to kill you because you're rumored to be a monster. Yet when he was injured, you did not choose to kill him yourself. On the contrary? You kept him alive. And you allowed me to plead for his release into a physician’s care. He is injured. I'm healthy. It made sense that I do his penance for him.”

The eyes narrowed. “What a peculiar creature you are,” he muttered. Then he shook his head. “You're forgetting, Sam, that I'm rumored to be a monster.”

“And as far as I've been able to determine, you have every ability to be that. But I've yet to see you use your power to harm anyone. You are a scholar. And perhaps you have dabbled in some darker magic than I myself have, but I can't see that you're so different from me in your studies. Far more powerful, certainly. But no more wicked.”

There was a softening of Lucien's eyes which made him certain what he had said was true. “And what else have you determined about me from a handful of words exchanged?”

He took a deep breath. “You're hurt by your brother's rejection of you, though you cover it with bitterness. You’re at odds with yourself, in that you're both lonely and desperate to be left alone. You could be a monster, but you'd rather just be thought of as one, so that no one comes around to bother or befriend you. You may even encourage the rumors yourself somehow.”

But Lucien frowned at one word. “Befriend!” he snapped. “I need no-”

“And there it is. Your conflict. Desperately lonely. Desperate to be left alone. So you play the heartless monster, but yet you open up your library and your gardens to me, the two things you are most proud of in your life, because you know I can appreciate them as no one ever has. Befriend, Lucien. It's a shame you're frightened of it.”

Fury was seething from Lucien. Sam could feel the room growing colder by the second, until his own shallow breath spilled white before his lips. 

He swallowed hard. “I'm sorry if I've offended you. Or if you think I'm out of line. But you asked what I've learned of you, and that's it. You're afraid to allow a friendship. You insist on holding me prisoner because you don't want to know if I'll run away if given my freedom, and part of you is terrified I wouldn't.”

Lucien turned and stormed toward the stairs which would take him to his own wing of the house. But then he whirled back around. “I'm not the one who began the rumors, nor is it necessary for me to perpetuate them,” he snarled. 

Sam lowered his gaze. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

“That would be my brother Michael’s doing,” he cried out. “Because he fears my power, he ensures that the world fears me too.”

Realization rushed through Sam. He lifted his head to stare at his master. “You're the king’s brother. You're Prince Lucas!”

The man glared bitterly into the dark windows. “I'm Lucien now. You'll never use that name again.”

But Sam shook his head. “You're supposed to be dead!”

A roll of the eyes told Sam how stupid that was. “I am not,” he responded. “In spite of my brother's paranoia and his best efforts, I am quite alive. But he has exiled me, imprisoned me for all intents and purposes, because he fears my power. And he has poisoned the minds of everyone who might encounter me, as surely as he poisoned me before I even realized we were enemies.”

The burns on his skin. “Is that...is that how…”

“The ring of feu sacré. It's made of a magical metal that burns the wearer from the inside out. A generous gift from my dear brother. It nearly killed me before I could determine that my ailment originated with the innocuous band on my finger. So Michael moved on to the next plan. If he couldn't kill me, he would send me away, tell everyone I had died, and begin tales of the monster who terrorizes innocents, so that none would bear me good will. And occasionally, he sends a hunter to assassinate me, the inevitable failure of which simply feeds the stories of the wicked beast.”

Sam’s lips parted in shock. “Dean? King Michael sent Dean? Knowing he would likely die?”

Lucien shrugged. “Michael has only ever sent his best swords to do his work. Your brother should take it as a compliment that Michael wielded him this time.”

Rage bubbled up in Sam's blood. His eyes narrowed, and he felt as feverish as if he were wearing the ring of holy fire himself. “He sent Dean to his death.”

“I raised a storm to send your brother back from whence he came. But he's stubborn as my own brother. It was only when the storm finally ripped him from the walls that he fell. My intention was to frighten him into retreat.”

“My brother doesn't frighten,” Sam muttered through clenched teeth. 

Lucien smiled then, and took a few steps back toward Sam. “No. No, he doesn't seem to. So when he fell and broke his bones, I was forced to decide. Do I murder yet another of my brother's favorite swords, or do I let him live? I had never kept a pet before.”

Sam’s eyebrow raised. 

He laughed quietly. “Forgive me, Sam. I mock your family only because he reminds me so much of my own.”

“Except that Dean has honor that King Michael seems to lack. Dean does what he does in order to save people, innocent people. The king seems to feed only his own designs.”

“In his way,” Lucien admitted wearily, “I'm certain Michael thinks he is protecting his people too, from his overpowered, malevolent brother. Should I try to usurp the throne, he would never be able to stop me. And I imagine he considers his rule to be preferable to mine.”

“Do you want his throne?”

Lucien went back to staring out at the dark garden outside. “I want his respect. But we are too far gone for that.”

Sam felt the words like a slap to the face. Had he not said the same thing to Dean just before he set off on this doomed mission? That he was proud of Dean’s accomplishments, and he wished Dean would respect his own? He nodded slowly. “How have you not allowed your anger to spill out of this prison?”

His master turned to him with surprise. “I use wrath, Sam. I am not a victim of it. And I love my brother. I would yet destroy anyone who threatened him. In all ways that matter, he is a good king. There is a reason he was placed on the throne by my father. I don't need the power, Sam. I've got more than enough of that. But...but you're right about one thing.”

Sam watched him. 

A small huff escaped Lucien's lips. “I'm lonely,” he admitted hoarsely. “I think it may be the true reason I intended to keep your brother. And I know it is why I was delighted when you took his place. There's something about you, Sam. Your beautiful rage, your stunning will. You are that white rose bud. Still young, still growing in power, but already so lovely and full of potential. I can't help being fascinated by you, Sam.”

Something very strange snaked through Sam's stomach then. He took a breath, and felt his heart racing. “And I you, Lucien,” he whispered. “And I confess to being lonely myself. Not because of my situation here. Always. I've been lonely all my life. Dean was my best friend, my hero. Henry is my mentor. But there has never been one who truly understood…”

Lucien took another step, closing the gap between them entirely. “I understand, Sam,” he promised. Then his lips were touching Sam's, and everything but their connection seemed to go very still and fade into the background.


	7. It Always Had To Be You

He was determined to get his boots on and sneak away from this place. It was a prison, and in spite of his growing affection for his jailer, he would find a way to get to his brother, no matter what it took. 

But when he finally had to fall back onto the bed, and groan in defeat, awash in pain from his injuries, Dean was startled to find an incorporeal image of his brother before him. He drew his knife. 

“Dean, it's me.”

“It's sorcery! It's a trick!”

But there was nothing more familiar than that look of utter exasperation on his brother's face. “Dean, I'm a sorcerer. It's what I do. I'm a Man of Letters.”

He couldn't argue with that. But he was still wary. “How are you doing this? You never had this ability before.”

Something had changed. Sam’s smile was full of cool confidence. “I always had the potential. And now, I'm beginning to realize how powerful I can be, just by accepting my true nature.”

Realization struck him hard. “The beast. He's done something to you. Sammy-”

“He's done nothing I didn't want. He's taught me.”

“To be a monster?” Dean demanded. He didn't understand what was happening. 

Sam’s eyes flashed black for just an instant, as if in warning. “Dean, I'm learning things I never dreamed of before. I'm learning things to keep you safe. And I know you're going to try to rescue me. Because that's what you do, brother. But I'm here to tell you that even if you come for me, I'm not leaving him.”

Horror filled Dean's chest. “What? He's making you say these things!”

The soft smile did not hide the confidence. “Dean, I was always meant to end up here. I'm sorry. But all those times you thought I was running away from you, from our father...I was really running toward him. I didn't know it. But this is where I belong. Please be happy for me. And in time, when you've healed, if your heart is free of ill will toward my mentor, you'll find the way to our home easy enough. If you will trust me, you'll be able to find your way back, and you'll see that I'm not being forced in any way.”

He swallowed hard. “Sammy? You-you're not remembering our codes. To tell me you're in trouble.”

“That's because I'm not. I remember them. But you know me. You'd know if I were being coerced. And I'm not. Dean, I've looked in on you every morning, and I've seen you falling for Joanna Beth. Let her love you. Don't run off because you think I need saving. When I see you next, I want to know the two of you are making one another happy. Goodbye for now.”

“Sam, wait!”

“I won't change my mind, Dean.”

The older man nodded. “All right, little brother. Tell me you'll be fine. Tell me he won't hurt you.”

At last, the smile beamed through in a way that Dean could believe. “He won't hurt me, Dean. Nor will I allow you to hurt him.”

He bit into his lip, then nodded again. “And...and what do I tell Henry? And Dad?”

“Tell them I'm researching. And, Dean, with King Michael...keep your eyes open, and don't turn your back. Serve him loyally, but not blindly.”

“I'll come to you soon, Sam. I promise. I'm better every day, and I'll be there soon.”

“With an open mind and heart,” Sam reminded him. 

It went against everything he had ever learned. But this was Sam. So he promised. “Open mind and heart. Unless he hurts you, I'll stay my weapon. If he does...no matter what it takes, I will destroy him.”

“It's fair. I'll see you soon, brother.”

Dean watched until his brother's image had faded away, and he lay back on the bed in exhaustion and worry. But something Sam had said made him smile moments later. “Joanna Beth. Hm.”

***

It was difficult to say what might have been if they hadn't ended up in one another's arms. Sam’s potential might have burned inside him as surely as Lucifer suffered with the ring, or it might have exploded from him without the necessary control. Lucien’s bitterness might have spilled out into the world beyond his gardens, or he might have been lost in his own madness within the walls of his beautiful cage. Loneliness plagued neither of them again. 

Mornings were spent breaking their fast among their roses, days were filled with quiet, gluttonous study, evenings in their library debating between sips of excellent wine, and nights were rapturous, blasphemous idolatry as they worshipped one another better than either had ever done for the gods. And should the gods dislike it, they were welcome to come say so. Lucien and Sam weren't afraid of anything on the earth or in the heavens, and they would be masters of what was below, were they not so content as they were. 

Sir Dean made good on his vow to come with only the goal of seeing that Sam was truly safe. Lucien was a gracious host. Before much longer, an engraved invitation was sent by a trained bird, which carried messages between the brothers Winchester. It was addressed to them both, to celebrate the handfasting of Dean and Joanna Beth. Sam had attended, taking with him Lucien's congratulations and generous gifts, and had seen for himself that Dean was truly happy. The Hunter, to the shock of Samuel Campbell, had left Michael’s direct service in favor of becoming the Lord of Ellen’s summer estate, with Joanna Beth by his side. If he continued to hunt, it was likely boar that took the brunt of his skill. He remained pledged to Michael, but he was far more devoted to the Lady of his house. For their second wedding anniversary, Dean gave her an exquisite knife collection, and began to teach her to throw, which made Ellen roll her eyes, and everyone else drop their jaws, and which delighted Dean's wife completely. 

Sam was entirely content. His anger no longer controlled him. His loneliness was a memory. Hot lips dragging across his skin, as he murmured incantations to intensify pleasure between him and his lover; that was his reality now. Sam and Lucien were beautiful beasts. This, they would never apologize for.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are lovely roses!


End file.
